17 August, 2012

This is my 666th post. Funny that.

As I've just had the day from hell.  
It started off with a cake that wasn't exactly how the client had envisioned it.  A misunderstanding re. sizing, 10" and 8" versus 12" and 4" but, er, obviously my misunderstanding. I thought everyone could tell sizes apart.  Sorry, being nasty.  I don't mean to be but .. day from hell, remember?
As a result of said misunderstanding I had to go into town to buy a dummy, boards, more sugarpaste and blah blah blah to remedy the above problem.  I parked in town, (great parking for Decobake in North Lotts you know) by shouting up at the Turk in the Turkish Cafe 'Oi, is I in'.  'No', he says.  'Shite', I says 'I wanted to park here'.  I explained who I was (I's sis in law) and I was allowed to park there whilst I ran around the corner, they kept an eye on my car so I didn't have to pay parking.  Was buggered if I was paying for parking on top of everything else today.
Got my stuff and went back to car and did an illegal reversing thing so I could go out the lane at the top end of the Lotts rather than having to drive down to Liffey Street.
Not my best move.
A junkie walked in front of my car.
I stopped.  
He dragged his head around to glare at me and slammed both fists down on my car.  The car my ma and da bought me, how very dare he.  So I put my hand on the horn and held it there.  
The bollix hit my car again.
I lost the plot.
Okay, bear in mind I thought I'd finished work for the week and was off to my godson's birthday party only to be told my cake wasn't good enough and .. . rough, right?
I got out of the car and told him to move.
He said, you'll have to imagine the accent, that delightful Dublin Junkie twang. 'Jaysus, you tried to kill me.'
Me: Move, or I fucking will kill you.
Him: Who the fuck do you think you are in yer fucking car tryin' to run me fucking ova'
Me:  Move out of my way now or I'll fucking get into that car and drive it through you.
Enter the gardai.  Two lovely fellas on bicycles.
Them:  "What;s the problem here?'
Him: 'I was just crossin' the road, like, and she tried to run me overrrrrrr'.
Them:  'Did you?
Me. 'No, but if he doesn't move .....'
Them: 'M'am, you have to calm down.  Take a breath (that gave me a giggle as G is always telling me to take a breath and breathe)'.
Them: 'Sir, we saw what happened, I suggest you move one'.
Him: 'Noooo, she tried to fookin' run me over, I want her arreste''.
Me: . . . . step forward, chest out, chin up.
Them: Quick hand on my arm, 'M'am move over here please'.
Them.  'I suggest you move along sir'.
Him: 'Yeah, yeah, her in her fookin' car'.
Me: Under breath (I'm breathing you see) 'I'm going to kill that fucker if he doesn't move. I have cakes to bloody make.
So, off yer man shambles and . .
Them: 'I see you haven't got that NCT sorted yet.'
Me: '............................yet??'
Them:  'Mickey Cake!!!!!'
Oh sweet Jesus, but they know about the Mickey Cake (I was stopped a while back with a giant penis (it was so real looking it throbbed, I swear to God, in the car.  G. had made it for a client of mine as I couldn't, ahem, face it and I got pulled over for no NCT cert but let go when I explained I was only collecting a cake I couldn't make because I'd hurt my wrist.  I know, I know.  I got sent off with a warning to get it sorted and I think I made the gardai's job a little bit more fun that day.
Anyway, turns out either one of those two fellas were those who saw the cake or, gulp, my reputation precedes me.
All the while I'm arguing with this guy all I can think about is 'If I get arrested, I don't have to make the cake!!!'  

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